“Go on.”
“I had no choice. Adam needs things. Physical therapy. A new wheelchair. There’s a rehabilitation program in Limerick I want to sign him up for. It’s expensive. I’ve been watching every pound, trying to save for it. Hoping insurance would kick in. But it’s too dear. I make too much to qualify for assistance, but not enough to pay. How do you like them apples?”
“I’m sorry.” If it were one of her own, she’d want them to have the best care too. “Maybe we could start a fund-raiser.”
“Not a chance.”
“Why not?” But she knew why not. Ed Healy was a proud man. He’d never take it.
“Are you going to raise over a hundred thousand euro?”
“That is dear.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound harsh.”
“Please continue.” She would leave the subject of Adam’s rehabilitation for another day, and perhaps speak with others about a fund-raiser. It was worth a try.
“I had to call in the O’Sheas’ bill. That’s when Paddy found out.”
“Did they pay it?”
“Paddy stormed in, spitting and cursing at first for daring to let his wife run a tab.”
“He didn’t know?”
“The husband is always the last to know.”
“I see.”
“By the time he left, he said he’d have the money to me before Christmas.”
Before Christmas . . .
Is that when he started stealing objects from homes? Cormac Dooley said Paddy wanted him to sell the items to an antique store in Charlesville. Could it have been to pay his tab? Who else did they owe? Was anyone angry enough to kill over it?
“Was that the last time you saw him?”
“’Twas. Except for at the panto.” He shook his head. “You know yourself.”
“These bones have to be from your shop.”
Ed glanced at the bones. “I keep those in the back freezer. I don’t remember anyone but Dooley purchasing them recently, but he only bought half a dozen.”
“Should we ask your brother?”
Ed lifted an eyebrow. “We were just inside. If my brother had sold Paddy those bones, he would have said so.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But I’m just doing my job. I have to ask and document the answer.”
Ed nodded, and turned to go back in. “I don’t want to embarrass Eileen about the tab. I hope that information stays with the guards.”
“I’ll see to it.”
* * *
When Ed and Siobhán returned to the front of the shop, they found it empty and the register abandoned. For a second Siobhán felt she was in a dream. Wasn’t this place just packed with people? Ed sported a similar bewildered look. Dave Healy had locked the front door and turned the sign to CLOSED.
Ed glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. Then looked at his watch. “He’s had some banking issues back home. Perhaps he had to return a call.”
“I’m sure whatever it was, it was important.”
Ed flipped the sign to OPEN and unlocked the door. “This is why I don’t go online. Anyone can steal from you. Someone on the other side of the world. It’s madness.”
“’Tis.” Siobhán mainly stayed off social media except for hosting a page for Naomi’s Bistro. Social media could also be a helpful tool for law enforcement. But she saw the drawbacks. Her parents would have hated all this screentime business.
“One more thing.” Siobhán pulled out her mobile and opened the picture of the blue paint chip. “Do you have any object this color?”
Ed took the phone and brought it close to him. “What am I looking at?”
“It’s a distinct color. I’m wondering if you’ve seen it anywhere.”
“Anywhere?” He shoved the phone back at her. “Not that I can recall.”
“T’ank you.”
He shrugged as if he wasn’t sure what she was thanking him for, showed Siobhán out, and returned to his post.
* * *
Hours later, as the bistro swelled with customers, Siobhán didn’t have time to ponder Ed’s revelation that the O’Sheas had been in desperate straits the past few years. She wished they would have known. The church would have taken up a collection. The village would have rallied around their Santa and Mrs. Claus. Then again, wasn’t Adam Healy a better cause?
No matter the recipient, Irish pride was strong, if not stronger than Irish kindness. There were times when being from a small village drove her mad, but other times, like these, it was a welcome blessing to be surrounded by familiar faces. It made her miss Macdara. She missed their conversations; she missed his blue eyes, his messy hair, his wink, his laughter. Did he ever think about her? How was he celebrating Christmas? Did he like Dublin? She was grateful the case was keeping her occupied, for the moments when she started obsessing on him were the worst.
She was just clearing a table when she noticed Mike Granger seated at the two-top by the window. It was the shopping bag by his feet that caught her eye. Sticking out from the top was the head of a nutcracker, wearing a vibrant blue hat. That shade of blue is unmistakable . . . isn’t it? One might even say it is teal . . .
“You alright there, chicken?” Mike asked when he caught her staring. “Are you thinking I’ve got the winner?” He grinned.
“I’ll be right back.” Siobhán hurried to bring the plates to the kitchen, then returned and stood by Mike. “May I see it?”
He appeared puzzled, but bent over and removed the wooden man. “Annmarie is selling them in her shop.”
Once she drew closer, she could see it was an exact match from the blue paint chip found in the tank. “May I?” She gestured.
“If you want to fondle me nutcracker, I won’t be stopping ya,” he said with a wicked grin.
She ignored the improper joke and picked up the nutcracker. The wood was thick. Substantial. Hard enough to kill. She examined it carefully, including flipping it over and noticing the thick seal across the bottom flap. When she was satisfied there were no chips, she returned the nutcracker to the bag. “I hope it’s a winner.” His nutcracker wasn’t the murder weapon, but one of them very well could be. It made sense. Annmarie had been selling them at the panto. And her shop. Either the killer had brought it with him or her, or they had purchased the murder weapon minutes before striking Paddy over the back of the head. “May I take a photo of it?”
“Be my guest. But maybe Santy should bring you one of your own, seeing as how you’re so transfixed.”
Chapter Eight
Sergeant O’Reilly was already waiting for Siobhán in front of Annmarie’s. The wind was picking up, delivering a stinging bite to their cheeks. A bell jingled above the door as they entered. Annmarie was just handing a customer a shiny bag. “Happy Christmas,” she called as the customer exited. There was a moment of silence as they regarded each other. “What can I do for you?” Annmarie said, a hint of worry in her tone despite her smile. Siobhán showed her the photo of Mike’s nutcracker. “Yes,” Annmarie said. “We had quite a few with that color blue.”
“Had?”
“Those went first. It’s a unique color.”
“Would you say it’s teal?” Siobhán said. O’Reilly nudged Siobhán with his foot. She let it go. “Did you keep a list of everyone who bought one?”
“If they paid by credit card, I would have the transaction, but it wouldn’t list the color.”
Detective Sergeant O’Reilly took off his hat and scratched the top of his head. Siobhán sighed. It would have been so much easier if Annmarie could hand them a nice little list. “Besides Mike, can you remember who purchased ones with this particular teal on its head?”
Annmarie squinted. “Isn’t it more of a sea blue?”
“Sea blue,” O’Reilly said, suddenly cheered. “I like dat one.”
“Can you remember or not?” Siobhán hoped it hadn’t come out too harsh. It is definitely teal. What is wrong with people?
Annmarie mulled it over ev
en as she shook her head. “Adam Healy was quite taken with them. He and Ed were in. But they didn’t buy one. Ed said he’d come back without the young one.”
“Did he?”
“Not while I was here. Sarah Murray has been helping me out. I can ask her.”
“Please do.” Sarah Murray was in college at Limerick University, but she helped out at the shop whenever she was home on break. Whenever Siobhán saw her, her face was shoved into the screen of her mobile, so the chances of her remembering anything was very low. Maybe Ed Healy had a point about the drawbacks of technology.
“Can you give her a bell right now?” O’Reilly asked.
“Of course.” Annmarie took her phone and stepped to the side as she made her call. She returned moments later. “She does not recall Ed Healy coming back to buy a nutcracker.”
“Who else can you remember?” Siobhán asked.
“Sheila Mahoney bought one, I remember because she wanted to haggle with me on the cost. I told her these were handmade from Sligo, and because of the shining star in one of them, I expected them to sell out. Then, of course, you already know Mike bought one for his aunt. I think it’s the spinster one who lives in Killarney. I haven’t been to Killarney in ages. I wish I was there right now.” She gave Siobhán and O’Reilly a look that suggested they were the reason she wished she were there right now.
“Who else?” Siobhán said, inquiring before Annmarie got too far off track.
“Cormac Dooley, and Eileen O’Shea bought one.” She sighed. “I guess we’ll no longer be referring to them as the elf and Mrs. Claus. If I knew what that poor woman was going to go through, I would have given it to her for free.”
“She paid for it?” Siobhán blurted out.
O’Reilly shot her a look. Luckily, Annmarie didn’t seem to pick up on it. “She paid cash. Is that important?”
“Only to the extent you don’t have a card receipt,” O’Reilly said.
At the mention of the elf and Mrs. Claus, something was flitting in and out of Siobhán’s mind. The other Santa Claus said his wife was crazy about nutcrackers. “Did the Charlesville Santa come in to buy one for his wife?”
Annmarie brightened. “How did you know?” She clasped her hands together. “Those reindeer from Wales last year were so wonderful, weren’t they?”
Sergeant O’Reilly took off his hat and rubbed his head. “Seems we were better off asking who didn’t buy a nutcracker.”
“I told you. They are very popular.” Annmarie gestured to the shelves. “Only a few left, if you fancy one yourself.”
The image of poor Santy’s head rose to mind. “No, thank you,” Siobhán said.
“I didn’t mean you. You don’t need one.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind. It’s nothing.” Annmarie busied herself in a drawer and started humming. Siobhán took a step forward.
“It didn’t sound like nothing.”
“Am I required to tell you everyone I remember who bought a nutcracker?”
“Yes,” O’Reilly said.
Annmarie chewed on her lip. “Eoin bought one.” She glanced at Siobhán and shrugged. “Surprise!”
“Eoin bought one? My brother Eoin?”
“Yes. Your brother Eoin.”
“I had no idea.”
Annmarie grinned. “I hope you’ll have the winner. You deserve it.”
The prize! Eoin, of course, would buy one. Her brood loved daydreaming about winning money.
“I’ll question Eoin,” O’Reilly said. “You have an obvious conflict of interest.”
“Not a bother.” Siobhán wanted to assure him that Eoin had nothing to do with knocking Santa Claus over the head, but she kept her gob shut. She was a guard now and had to do everything by the book.
Annmarie leaned on the counter, her large chest holding her up like cushions. “Does this have anything to do with the murder?”
Siobhán patted her on the shoulder. “You know we can’t say. But it’s very important that you go through your records, and your memory, and make us a list of everyone who bought a nutcracker.”
“I will do.” She sighed. “I sold a lot. This is going to take a while.” She glanced around the shop, which was once again starting to fill with people.
“Where is Sarah?”
“She’s busy with the family.”
“Do you want me to see if Gráinne could offer you some holiday help while you sort it out?”
Annmarie brightened slightly. She always liked Gráinne’s roguish ways. “That would be lovely,” she said. Her face turned serious for a moment. “But she can’t argue with the customers. Not during the holidays.”
“I’ll let her know.”
“And none of those short skirts.”
“Understood.”
“Or tight or low-cut tops.”
“I see.”
“If she could go easy on the makeup . . .”
Siobhán sighed. “Shall I send Ann instead?” The youngest of the O’Sullivan Six had none of the challenges Annmarie had listed.
Annmarie exhaled with relief. “Please do.”
* * *
As soon as they exited the gift shop, O’Reilly took a call. He hung up. “Jeanie Brady has arrived.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Come along, you can watch, but keep your gob shut and stay out of the way.”
“Of course.”
“Will you go back into the shop first and buy a nutcracker? I’d like Jeanie to know we think it’s possibly the murder weapon.”
“Of course.”
He dug some euro out of his pocket and handed them to her. “Get a receipt and meet us back at the crime scene.”
“Right away.” Siobhán started back for the shop, and then stopped. “Wait.”
O’Reilly waited, although one could hardly call his stance patient. “Yes?”
“What if it’s a winner?”
He frowned. “What if?”
“Who wins it?”
“It will belong to the garda station.”
“Makes sense, I suppose.”
“We’d put it to use.” He tipped his hat and left. Siobhán hurried back inside and bought the nutcracker, checking first to make sure it was sealed. It still bothered her, the thought of someone abusing the seals. Did the maker simply not care? Or was the craftsman counting on folks to be so wrapped up in the Christmas spirit that they wouldn’t dare try to cheat? It was a careless set-up if you asked Siobhán. She wasn’t the type of person who would break the seals looking for a winner, but make no mistake, those types were out there. Those were the types who would soon be keeping her employed. Maybe Annmarie was right. Her mind had been warped. As it should be. Guards had to be able to see the worst in people to be good at their jobs. The thought made her sad. This was why she should be enjoying Christmas, using the little time she had left to see the best in people instead. At the register she hesitated. They were selling fancy boxes of pistachios in red and green, the ribbon-adorned bags propped up in tiny wooden sleighs. Jeanie Brady had a mad pistachio addiction, and it was Christmas after all. Siobhán purchased it separately, thrilled to be buying her first Christmas gift of the season.
* * *
“For me?” Jeanie Brady’s eyes lit up at the pistachios. She was a short and round woman, with bright eyes and a vibrant personality. “It’s perfect.” They stood just outside the tent, standing sideways to brace themselves from the biting wind.
“Not a bother.”
“Do you mind keeping it for me so I won’t be tempted?”
“Of course.”
Jeanie nodded, and kept her eyes on the gift bag as she donned gloves. She pointed at the sleigh. “I’ll be seeing you soon.” She turned to the tent. “Now.” She entered and began her initial task, which was simply declaring it an official crime scene and doing a preliminary examination of the body. “We’ll have to check his lungs to see if the blow killed him, or if he drowned.”
“We sent the
cocoa water in to check for poison,” O’Reilly said. “It came back clear.”
Jeanie nodded. “No need for poison when a blow to the head and drowning would certainly do the trick.” She held up the evidence bag with the paint chip in one hand and the nutcracker in the other. Theirs wasn’t a winner; Siobhán had broken the seal and peeked the minute she purchased it. To be fair, it hadn’t taken awhile to remove the seal, so maybe it wasn’t as careless as she first thought. “First glance, I’d say you found your murder weapon, alright. I’ll measure the wound to the head with the nutcracker and render my findings.”
“Technically, it’s not the murder weapon,” Siobhán said. “The real one will be missing a chip off the old block.”
Jeanie nodded. “Indeed. Thank you for clarifying.” She added a sarcastic smile. Siobhán clamped her lips shut, hoping the pistachios would earn her some good graces.
It didn’t take long before the van came to take the body. It would be transported to the only funeral home in town, Butler’s Undertaker, Lounge, and Pub. There Jeanie would conduct the autopsy. She took the sleigh of pistachios from Siobhán as soon as the van left with the body. “Thank the stars the cocoa wasn’t poisoned,” she said with an affectionate pat to Siobhán’s shoulder. “I’ve heard it’s magic in a mug.”
“’Tis. You’ll have to stop into O’Rourke’s for a mug before you leave.”
“Will do.”
Siobhán remained at the crime scene and scoured it again, just in case she’d missed a stray nutcracker. There were none to be found. The killer had taken it with him or her. Cases often took one step forward and two steps back. Forward step: they now had a bead on the murder weapon, and Siobhán suspected it wouldn’t take long for Jeanie Brady to confirm it. Back steps: many in town, including her brother, had purchased a nutcracker, and they had no idea where the exact murder weapon was now.
She paced the square as she tried to piece together what they knew so far. Either someone had just gone shopping, then happened to enter Santa’s secret carnival and . . . what? An argument broke out and the murderer pulled the nutcracker from his shopping bags and struck? The injury was toward the back of the head, which suggested a kill from behind, so that didn’t quite fit. Unless they argued, then Santa turned his back for a second and the killer struck.
Christmas Cocoa Murder Page 7
